


I'm Not All Right (And I Would Rather . . .)

by theflowerchildandthepunk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, very minor hermione and ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflowerchildandthepunk/pseuds/theflowerchildandthepunk
Summary: Hermione had called it suicidal, looking at the pale scars peppered along the inside of Draco's forearm.Orthe one where Draco is depressed, Harry loves him, and sometimes there's no right answers when it comes to things like this.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	I'm Not All Right (And I Would Rather . . .)

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic is just a sad hot mess and I should apologize now.
> 
> This is completely unedited, so all mistakes are my own!
> 
> Obviously don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it, this is just a bit of fun in my otherwise pretty sad adult life.
> 
> Enjoy?

Harry knew it was going to be a bad night for Draco when he shuffled through the front door to all of the lights off and the muffled wailing of a Muggle band Draco had become obsessed with shortly after the war. He slipped his shoes off and set his keys softly on the coffee table, fingers going up to loosen the tie that suddenly felt like a noose around his neck. He made his way slowly towards their bedroom, feet slipping against the cool hardwood floor with barely a whisper of sound; not that Draco would have been able to hear him over the music that was currently shaking the window in the hallway anyway.

Harry paused at the closed door, taking a deep breath before opening it to reveal Draco curled up in the center of their bed; blankets piled on top of his body and the shades wrenched down and taunt like he had been too forceful with the sweep of his wand. The familiar panic that had been built up in Harry’s chest faded with the rise and fall of Draco’s, unraveling the knot that had settled in his stomach at the sight of their darkened living room.

“It hurts,” Draco whimpered, tear streaked face looking up at Harry from the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped up in. Harry flicked his own wand at the Muggle stereo Draco had insisted on, abruptly cutting off the song that had been rattling the house, before slipping out of his robes and crawling onto the bed; pressing his body against Draco’s when the blankets were lifted up just enough for his body to slip under.

The Mind Healer had called it trauma from the war all those months ago when Harry had forced a reluctant Draco to St. Mungo’s after admitting his first thought had been to jump off the roof of their house instead of hanging up the fairy lights Harry had brought out of the attic. Hermione had called it suicidal, looking at the pale scars peppered along the inside of Draco’s forearm. He was ashamed to admit that it had taken him weeks to even consider the fact that Hermione could be right, that his husband was plagued with demons that even he couldn’t fight off and drive away.

Harry ran his hand along that scared forearm now, digging his fingers into the pulse point of Draco’s wrist and allowing him to press his nose against the curve of his own neck. He took a shaky breath and allowed his body to stop shaking, relief that he hadn’t walked into their bedroom to find Draco dead leaving him slightly nauseous.

“I know, love,” Harry soothed, dragging the wrist he was holding up until Draco’s hand could rest over his heart. “Count with me, then. Just like last time.” He dropped a kiss on the top of Draco’s head when he felt the tentative _tap, tap, tap_ of Draco’s fingers on his chest, the solid gold wedding band he had given Draco a cool rush against his skin.

It had been Ron who had suggested that Draco counted his heartbeat when he wanted it to stop, looking at Harry like he was a twat when he had gone to talk to his best friend about things that even Hermione couldn’t understand.

_“You said it yourself, after the war was over and you could talk about all of it without having nightmares that made your throat feel like it was bleeding. Dying was peaceful for you. I imagine that ‘s exactly what he’s wanting,” Ron explained softly, eyes landing on the picture of Rose and Hugo that was perpetually crooked on the wall. “He just needs to be reminded that there are different types of peace when his head is like that.”_

Harry held Draco until his shaking stopped, until the tap, tap, tap against his chest slowed into sluggish movements, until he could feel the slow rise and fall of Draco’s chest against his own as the battle in Draco’s mind eased.

“I’m sorry,” Draco mumbled, face still pressed against Harry’s neck. “I know how much you don’t like this. I wish I could be normal for you.”

Harry loosened his grip on Draco’s wrist and brought his hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss against Draco’s wedding band. “I love you. Nothing is going to change that,” Harry promised, placing Draco’s hand back on his chest. “I can’t pretend to understand what’s going on in your head. Hermione told me that I probably won’t ever be able to understand it. But I can love you extra hard on the days where being alive hurts too much, and I can promise that won’t ever change.”

Draco pressed a kiss against Harry’s neck, snuggling closer like he was trying to crawl into Harry’s skin. Harry knew this wasn’t the end of it, knew that there were more bad days for Draco ahead of them. But as Draco drifted off to sleep, tears dried on his cheeks and pulse a steady _thump, thump, thump_ under Harry’s fingers, Harry accepted that sometimes this was as good as he was going to get.


End file.
